I'm Not A Drunkard

Yet, Carl persisted. "Grace, this weekend you'll call Dad," he declared, more as an announcement than a suggestion.
"Okay," I conceded, my eyes still fixed on the outside. I just wanted this conversation to end, and agreeing with whatever Carl said seemed the quickest way.
"You didn't inform me he'd be joining us for lunch," I complained to Carl, seizing the opportunity to shift our discussion.
It was a welcome diversion, focusing on the mysterious man instead of delving into my complicated past with my parents. It wasn't about them, but rather my not-so-pleasant history that I didn't want to revisit at the moment. After all, soon I would have to confront a man or share a car and a table with someone whose presence I could hardly stand.
"Who?" Carl asked, bewildered.
"Your neighbor, Arthur," I clarified.
"Oh, we already had a plan to go out for lunch today. I thought it'd be great if you joined us. Sorry I forgot to inform you," Carl explained.
"What? It's not he, but me, who's added to the plan. All this time, I had been thinking that Carl invited him to dine out with us," I mused.
"Well," the idea of sitting at the same table with a man whose presence bothered me burdened my thoughts. "Can't we go alone?" I asked Carl.
"What's wrong with him?" he inquired.
"Well, you know it better than me," I responded.
"Grace, he's a nice man. You don't know him yet. I've been living in this building for quite a lot of years, and so has he. He's just like a brother and a good friend. You'll enjoy his company as much as I do. Except for some off days and a bad routine, that too occasionally, he's a pretty reasonable man to spend time with," Carl smiled persuasively.
"Let's see," I replied, my eyes catching sight of a man impeccably dressed in a black suit with tailored dress pants and a well-fitted coat. His neatly gelled-back hair and light beard added to his polished appearance as he walked towards our car, where Carl waved at him.
After a while, his face appeared in the passenger seat window as Carl directed him, "Off to the driver's seat."
He smiled at Carl and briefly glanced at me. In that fleeting moment, strange signals shot down my spine. The driver's side door swung open, and he settled in, slamming the door shut.
His cologne enveloped my senses for a moment—rich and exquisite. One could not doubt the choice of a man with such a luxurious scent.
"Hi, Grace," he greeted me, tilting his face back. His deep, manly voice momentarily silenced my words, leaving me speechless.
It took me a few seconds to force them out, and I finally managed to say, "Hi!"
"Sorry for being a little late," he apologized to Carl.
"We can understand. After getting drunk that much, it's obvious one can't get up early," I chimed in from the back.
He turned his head back, shooting me a narrow yet furrowed gaze. My heart raced, but I reined in my nerves, showing no signs of vulnerability.
"It's okay. Now, let's not waste more time in bragging. I'm starving," Carl interrupted, steering the conversation away from potential tension.
Arthur averted his head forward and started the car, maintaining silence for a considerable time. None of us uttered a word. The car progressed towards its destination in serene quietness, only disrupted by the horns and sounds of other vehicles.
"Do you have the day off today?" Carl eventually broke the silence, asking Arthur.
"No, I have a night shift," Arthur replied, his gaze fixed ahead.
"I see, that's why you didn't wake up early. I know you're an early bird," Carl commented.
"Yes, probably," Arthur responded.
I sensed the rudeness in his attitude, and I was not oblivious to the reason—I was the cause. The chosen restaurant for our lunch wasn't far from our residence, and we reached it within a matter of minutes, probably taking around 10 minutes to arrive.
The car screeched to a halt outside the restaurant, and Carl was the first to step out. I was about to follow suit when I noticed Arthur turning around, a determined look on his face.
"I'm not a drunkard," he asserted, his words cutting through the air. I held my tongue, well aware of the potential escalation if I responded. Opting for silence, I reluctantly moved my body out of the car.
I trailed behind Carl as we entered the restaurant, and Arthur followed closely behind me. I could feel his shadow looming over me, adding an invisible weight to my figure. The air was thick with unspoken tension, and the atmosphere inside the restaurant seemed to absorb the silent animosity.
The hostess led us to our table, and we settled into our seats. The clinking of silverware and murmur of other diners provided a backdrop to the lingering unease among us. I stole a glance at Arthur, who was seated across from me. His gaze was fixed on the menu, but I could sense the simmering tension beneath the composed exterior.
Carl, always the mediator, attempted to diffuse the palpable discomfort. "So, Arthur, what do you recommend from here? Grace, you might want to try their specialty dish," he suggested, trying to steer the conversation towards safer grounds.
Arthur looked up from the menu, his expression softening momentarily. "The pasta here is good, and they have a variety of options. Grace, you might like the seafood Alfredo," he suggested, his tone more neutral.
I nodded in acknowledgment, grateful for the attempt to redirect the conversation. As we ordered our meals, the atmosphere lightened slightly, but an underlying tension lingered. The clatter of plates and hushed conversations around us provided a thin veil over the unease that hung in the air.
The meal progressed with restrained conversation, and despite the effort to ease tensions, an unspoken rift lingered beneath the surface.
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